


Brotherly Love

by BlueGirl22



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Canon Era, Coming Out, DWSA - Freeform, Gen, Is Actually Missing One Crucial Piece of Information About Love and Sex, M/M, Melchior 'I Know Everything About Love and Sex' Gabor, also there's a little tad bit of internalized homo/biphobia here but not much, but it just Stopped before any of the Bad Things could occur, imagine everything happened as it normally does in canon, not quite canon compliant, or a 'melchior realizing he's pan/poly/queer' fic. whatever hc floats ur boat., the henst and melchritz tags are false advertising this isn't really a shippy fic, they are mentioned but this is more a 'melchior realizing he's bi' fic, this starts at around where 'touch me' would be in the canon timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueGirl22/pseuds/BlueGirl22
Summary: Melchior Gabor has somehow wound up under the impression that getting occasional all-consuming urges to kiss Moritz is just something that is part of an average friendship. A conversation with Hanschen sets him straight. Well, "straight" may not be the best word...





	Brotherly Love

 

 

> October 20-
> 
> The subject is: love and attraction, in all their forms.
> 
> If one goes by what the ancient Greeks had to say on the subject, there are _seven_ different kinds of love in our world.
> 
>   * _Eros_ , passionate and/or carnal love, what we might call “romantic” today.
>   * _Philia_ , brotherly love of the connection of minds, what we might call “platonic”.
>   * _Ludus_ , fun and playful love, like a young couple just starting their courtship.
>   * _Pragma_ , long withstanding love, like that of old married couples.
>   * _Agape_ , selfless and unconditional love for one’s fellow humans.
>   * _Philautia_ , love of the self, be it either healthy or not.
>   * _Storge_ , the unwavering love between parents and children.
> 

> 
> While I don’t necessarily agree with all their categories (there are plenty of parents who don’t have nearly enough _storge_ to satisfy their children), I believe that they give a rather good framework with which to analyse the numerous attractions one feels, and help differentiate them from each other.
> 
> I think physical attraction is the one that people are most apt to confuse with the others. Generally, one isn’t going to mistake parental love with sensual love (unless one’s name is Otto Lammermeier, that is), but I think that platonic, romantic, and sexual love/attraction are all so strong and similar, in certain aspects at least, that when one feels any to extremity it can lead to believing oneself is feeling others, or even perhaps actually to briefly dipping a toe into the pool of another type of love by mistake. For example, two days ago Moritz came over to my house so that I could help with his school work, and it appears that I got my very own wires-of-attraction crossed.
> 
> We were sitting next to each other on the sofa in the sitting room, poring over our books, and I looked up from a page about Ferdinand I that was boring me to tears and noted that next to me, Moritz had taken leave of his studies and was leaning his head back against the sofa. With his eyes half closed and his chest steadily rising and falling, he looked like he might be just on the brink of sleep. My first instinct was to rouse him so he wouldn’t face punishment at school the next day for not having his work done, but before I could give him a nudge, I noticed just how peaceful he looked. He usually looks so stressed and harried, and I don’t often get to see his face in a position of relaxation, so I wasn’t keen to disturb him.
> 
> All of a sudden, I felt a strange urge to reach out and run the tips of my fingers down his face, and perhaps put my lips to his. He was barely a few inches away from me; it would be so easy. There was nothing impeding me from doing so, and the idea was rapidly becoming all-consuming, so I stretched my hand out to him. Luckily, I caught myself in time and realized how absurd the idea was, and how negatively Moritz would be sure to react, so I redirected my course and instead grabbed the papers from his lap. He stirred slightly and gazed at me at a slant, but before he could even put my name sign to his cheek I told him to go keep resting. He did so, and I did some of his mathematics work in as close to his own hand as I could approximate.
> 
> In all honesty, dear diary, that event is what prompted today’s entry. For a while, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I found myself quite perturbed. In the moment, I really had felt like I’d come down with an awful case of _eros_ for my dear Moritz, but that couldn’t have been, surely? A person isn’t capable of feeling that way for those of one’s own sex, and even if that _were_ possible, I already feel such things for girls. But then, thankfully, I figured out what had happened.
> 
> _Obviously_ what had occurred was that I’d been feeling strong _platonic_ appreciation for my friend, and since usually when a person feels any kind of love that forcefully it’s for one’s _romantic_ partner, my brain made the entirely understandable error of flipping the wrong switch and I got temporarily confused.
> 
> Oh, that appears to be all I have time to write this evening, my father is knocking on my door and telling me to put out my lamp. Goodnight, dear diary.

* * *

 

“But, me? Well, I'm like a pussycat.” A suspenseful pause. “I just… skim off the cream.”

Melchior considered the statement and propped himself up on his elbows, laying on his back in the grass. He brought his hand up to his face and bit his lip while he worked out exactly how he wanted to phrase this. “Does the word ‘pussycat’ really need to be in there? And you’re coming on _much_ too strong on the finger lick.”

Hanschen, kneeling a few feet away, let his hands fall to his sides. “That’s on purpose. I need to be _heart wrenchingly_ sensuous before I go into the poetry, otherwise that part’ll just come off as confusing. If I haven’t made it clear what this is all in aid of by that point, then the object of my affection might think I’m just talking gibberish.”

“Actually, Hanschen, that’s another thing-” Melchior sat up completely, wincing as his palm mashed into a twig- “The poetry might also need to go.”

“No,” said Hanschen, flatly. “The poetry is romantic.”

Melchior heaved a sigh. “If you say so. I’m starting to think that I was the wrong choice for your test audience. No offense, but I couldn’t be less attracted to you if I tried.”

Hanschen smirked. “None taken, as that was the point. If I can do something that will, at least, not disgust _you_ , then I should be irresistible to _anyone_ _else_ on God’s green earth.”

Melchior flopped back down again. “I guess that makes a sort of sense.” A beat. “And you’re _still_ not going to tell me _who_ you’re making all this effort for?”

Hanschen squinted at him and ran his tongue over his teeth in a pondering manner. “No… I don’t think I will.”

Melchior rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his fist. “It’s odd, you’ve never struck me as the shy, secretive type. But then again, I also wouldn’t’ve thought that you’d be the kind to script and rehearse a confession of love.”

“This kind of swagger doesn’t just _happen_ you know. It’s an art.” Hanschen carefully and methodically examined the medals on his jacket lapel. “Besides, I’m not being _secretive_ , I just don’t feel like volunteering that kind of information by myself; I wouldn’t mind if you figured it out on your own.”

“That sounds like a challenge!” Melchior straightened himself up once again and rubbed his hands together. “Do I get any hints?”

“I like this person enough to be willing to practice reciting _original love poetry_ in front of you.”

“Fair enough. So, hmm,” said Melchior, thinking while drumming his fingers against his chin. “Unless you’re a real masochist, then it can’t be Thea, because she hates you.”

“That’s a well known fact.”

“And therefore it’s probably not Melitta, either, because they’re joined at the hip.”

“Sound reasoning.”

“And Martha Bessell… I could see you liking her, but she’s been pining _exclusively_ over Moritz for years, and again, I don’t think you’re a masochist.”

Hanschen _tsked_. “You don’t know that.”

Melchior stopped and ran his eyes over his friend. “No, I don’t… but I’ll still go with my instinct and say _not_ her. Marianna Wheelan?”

“Alas, no.”

He felt a slight sinking feeling in his heart. “Wendla Bergmann?”

“Another no, I’m afraid.”

“ _Ilse Neumann?_ ”

“Melchior, I haven’t seen her in _years_.”

“And? I’m running out of girls we know.”

There was a four second pause of which, had it come from anyone else, Melchior wouldn’t have taken any mind at all. However, coming from Hanschen, it betrayed some kind of, almost… nervousness. Coolly, Hanschen replied, “And who said anything about girls?”

“Because you’re confessing romantic inten…” Melchior’s words dropped off and his brain creaked to life. Hanschen could _see_ the gears turning behind his eyes. After a moment, something clicked, and Melchior’s expression lit up in realization. “Oh!” he said, pointing at Hanschen, “Boys! You like boys! You’re romancing a boy!”

Hanschen cringed almost imperceptibly at Melchior’s sudden enthusiasm but still gave a slight nod of his head. “That I am.”

“Well that’s… something,” Melchior said, floundering and startled but not malicious. “In that case-” he held a finger in front of his face and his eyes unfocused- “Ernst.”

Hanschen’s eyes widened. “How did you get that so quickly?”

“You’ve been walking him home everyday for the past six weeks.”

Hanschen thought about it. “That is a sort of giveaway, yes.”

Melchior’s mind was still working at something in regards to what this new information meant for himself, but he could put that away for a moment. He thought he ought to amend something before he leapt to the next topic. “If it’s Ernst, then _yes_ the poetry should stay. He loves that sort of stuff.”

“I’m glad you could finally see sense.”

“Yeees,” he drew out the syllable. “I can see what you’re going for now. That entire performance you’ve got laid out should do just the trick for him. He’s kind of a, a-” Melchior snapped his fingers, looking for the right word.

“Sentimentalist?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Melchior blinked a few times, his eyes glazing over as he stared off into the middle distance. “Disregard everything I said before, I think you’re all set.”

“Alright then,” Hanschen said, eyeing the other boy warily. They may not be the closest of friends, but Hanschen can recognize Melchior’s ‘if I don’t ask you more about this I’m going to explode’ face with ease. He rocked to his feet and slowly brushed off his knees, trying to give Melchior ample time to spring anything on him. If there were going to be any awkward questions, he wanted them over with now, and not to have anything tactlessly brought up later in front of other people. “I guess I’ll be off home then,” he enunciated as clearly as he could, trying to break into Melchior’s thought bubble.

“Good, good,” mumbled Melchior.

Hanschen slowly spun on his heel to walk away. “Okay.” _Maybe I actually will be getting away scot-free_.

“Actually, Hanschen-”

_Spoke too soon_.

“-I have a question for you, about, uh-”

Hanschen spun around again, putting back his air of indifference. “Just _one_ question? This really is my lucky day.” He steeled himself to hear something invasive. “Go on, out with it. What do you want to know?”

Melchior let out a nervous sounding chortle. “This’ll sound somewhat odd, but, I just, uh, wanna know: do you like girls also? Or, do you know if that’s a thing that’s, um, even possible?”

“I-” Hanschen was about to give a short, clipped answer in his usual style, but stopped himself, actually taking in the picture before him. Melchior, someone usually oozing with charm and confidence enough to make a man sick, had his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He worried at his bottom lip and stared pointedly away from Hanschen’s eyes. And, if Hanschen wasn’t mistaken, and Hanschen was never mistaken, there was a bead of sweat forming just at the edge of his hairline. This was no run-of-the-mill curiosity.

“Yes,” he finally replied, calculating how best to prudently respond. “It is, and I do. And what’s more, it’s not even particularly uncommon. I can’t really call to mind many names at the moment, but most of your finer poets and authors tend to be the same way. England’s William Shakespeare certainly wrote enough love poems to both men and women.”

“Oh.” Melchior snapped back to himself, the look of disquiet suddenly banished. “Wait, are you trying to call yourself Shakespeare?”

The downside to putting Melchior’s mind at ease was that now he was back to being himself. Hanschen turned to go again. “Hey, _you_ asked. Anyway, I have to get along home now. Latin to memorize.”

“Right, so do I.” Melchior leapt to his feet. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

* * *

  

> November 27-
> 
> The topic is: self-discovery and learning new things.
> 
> “I have been proved wrong” is not a sentence I like to write, but however little pleasure that brings me, writing “I have been proved wrong by Hanschen Rilow” brings me even less. Nonetheless, that is what I have to say today, and the pleasure brought on by a realization I’ve made _does_ help to make up for it. As it turns out, feeling an overwhelming compulsion to kiss one’s best friend is _not_ an entirely platonic emotion…

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feel free to leave a kudos/comment and/or hmu on tumblr @bisexual-evanhansen


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